


5E

by walkalittleline



Series: It Might be Fate [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Frumpkin number one wingman, M/M, the classic ‘live in the same apartment building’ trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkalittleline/pseuds/walkalittleline
Summary: There’s a cat on his balcony. There’s a cat eating his plants, gnawing steadily at his mint with the corner of its mouth. It’s big for a house cat, with distinct markings across its fur, wearing a blue collar with a little bell and a tag dangling from it.





	5E

Spring is unusually late that year, the last chill of winter lingering late into April. It’s not until it’s been warm and sunny for a full week that Caduceus finally moves his plants from along the window sills and just inside the sliding door to the cramped balcony off his kitchen. It’s barely a balcony in the traditional sense, a scant four feet deep and at most eight feet width, so tiny there’s only just enough space for him to turn around once he’s finally gotten his plants set up along the edges against the railings. But, he thinks, it’s better than nothing, his own tiny sanctuary in the middle of the city.  
  
It’s only a few days after he moves his garden outside that something peculiar begins happening. He notices first when he’s pruning his miniature rose bush, kneeling down in the cramped space so he can reach between the tiny stems to snip off dead leaves and shriveled brown twigs. He’s eye level with the rest of his plants and frowns as he turns to the little set of pots holding his herbs. He squints, touching his fingers delicately to a few mint leaves that look like they’ve been shredded by... something, bruised and mangled like they’ve been chewed on.  
  
He stands and peers over the side of the balcony at the street below. Being three stories up, there’s no way anything could get up to his plants—and if they could why would they risk the fall for mint and basil? He hums in confusion, wondering if maybe there’s some weird beetle he’s not seen before that could be doing it. He spends the evening researching local pests and homemade insect repellents.  
  
He’s watering his plants a few days later, still mulling over the damage to his mint—he’s since trimmed the chewed bits away and kept a close eye out for any unfamiliar bugs—when he sees the same fate has befallen his lemongrass. A clump of the long, pale blades are gnawed and tattered, several pieces scattered around the pot and dirt strewn across the balcony.  
  
“What on earth,”  he mutters, kneeling down to inspect the plant more closely. Those are definitely bite marks.  
  
He straightens up, hands on his hips, utterly perplexed.  
  
It’s not until almost a week later, when he’s starting to get seriously concerned for his plants’ wellbeing as whatever is destroying them continues its assault, that he finally realizes what’s happening. He’s home early from work, having left the tea shop a few hours early with Jester’s insistence he take some time for himself—“you’ve been working seven days a week, Caduceus, I promise the shop won’t burn down if you take three hours off”. As he walks through the door of his apartment, toeing off his shoes and dropping his keys on the kitchen counter, he glances out to the balcony and freezes.  
  
There’s a cat on his balcony. There’s a cat eating his plants, gnawing steadily at his mint with the corner of its mouth. It’s big for a house cat, with distinct markings across its fur, wearing a blue collar with a little bell and a tag dangling from it.  
  
“How in the world,” he mutters, striding to the sliding glass door and pulling it open.  
  
The cat’s eyes snap to him, wide and green, pupils shrinking to slits the second it spots him.  
  
“Hey, little fellow, what are you—“ he reaches for the cat but it leaps through his arms and scrambles up onto the railing of the balcony. Caduceus’ heart stops momentarily as it springs out into the empty space between his balcony and the fire escape, but the cat manages to catch the wrought iron ledge with its front paws and scrabble up, glancing back at him before skittering up the stairs in a blur of fur, disappearing from view.

“Huh,” Caduceus mutters, frowning. He makes a note to stop by the greenhouse tomorrow and pick up some catnip.

It takes another two weeks of careful coaxing with bits of fish, crouching in his kitchen with the sliding door open waiting patiently, for the cat to warm up enough to let him touch it. He doesn’t rush, is careful to give it plenty of space and let it ease its way to him, gradually moving from eating on the other side of the glass with Caduceus five feet back from the door, seated cross-legged on the floor, to creeping cautiously into his apartment so it can snatch the piece of salmon from Caduceus’ outstretched palm, purring loudly as he gnaws at it.

“There’s a good boy,” Caduceus mutters, gently stroking his hand down the cat’s back, smiling when it arches into the touch. It meows and rubs its head into his hand, looking up at him expectantly.

“No more fish today,” Caduceus says, chuckling. “Your owner is probably already cross with me for giving you treats as it is.”

The cat meows again, flopping down on the linoleum on its side and absently grooming itself in the warm sunbeam shining through the still open door.

“Alright, let’s see who you belong to,” Caduceus says, scratching the cat under the chin before turning the little tag on its collar over to read the engravings on it.

_MY NAME IS FRUMPKIN_

_I AM LOST_

_PLEASE CALL MY OWNER_

_CALEB WIDOGAST_

There’s a phone number and address on the back of the tag, Caduceus surprised to see the apartment in question is directly above his own two stories up.

“Well, Frumpkin,” Caduceus says, petting him down the side as he pulls out his phone. “What do you say we let Caleb know where you are, hm? Tell him what you’ve been up to.”

He takes a picture of Frumpkin where he’s luxuriating in the sun, eyes half-closed, and double checks the number on the tag before typing out a message.

 **_Caduceus:_ ** _Hello, Caleb, you don’t know me but I’m in 3E. Is this yours?_

He sends the message along with the picture of Frumpkin, turning his phone over in one hand and scratching Frumpkin’s ears with the other while he waits for a response. It’s early evening, the sun dipping low in the sky towards the horizon, and he hopes that Caleb is home. He doesn’t think he could, in good conscience, let Frumpkin take his usual route back home now that he has him safe inside. His fretting is short lived, however, as his phone buzzes in his hand five minutes later.

 **_Caleb Widogast (5E):_ ** _why do you have my cat_

 **_Caleb Widogast (5E):_ ** _who is this_

 **_Caduceus:_ ** _like I said, I live in 3E. My name is Caduceus Clay. Frumpkin has been climbing down to my balcony for the last few weeks and I finally managed to catch him. I’m just afraid he’s going to get hurt._

 **_Caleb Widogast (5E):_ ** _I’m sorry, he’s been what??_

 **_Caleb Widogast (5E):_ ** _are you home currently?_

 **_Caduceus:_ ** _yes, I have him with me in my apartment_

 **_Caleb Widogast (5E):_ ** _I am on my way home now, can you keep him there?_

 **_Caduceus:_ ** _sure :)_

There’s no response after this and Caduceus clambers to his feet to shut the door to the balcony, ignoring Frumpkin’s reproachful look.

“Can’t have you getting out while we wait for your owner,” Caduceus says sternly, wagging his finger as he bends down to scoop Frumpkin up and carry him to the couch, letting him curl in his lap while he flips absently through a tea supply catalog and waits for Caleb to show up.

There’s a knock at his door fifteen minutes later and he gathers Frumpkin in his arms as he goes to open it. The man on the other side of the door lifts his eyes from where they’re leveled at Caduceus’ chest to look into his face when the door swings inward. His blue eyes widen slightly, something Caduceus has grown to expect when meeting new people, and he clears his throat.

“You must be Caduceus,” he says stiffly, frowning at Frumpkin where he’s nestled in Caduceus’ arms, purring loudly.

“That’s me,” Caduceus replies, smiling. “Caleb, right?”

“Yes,” Caleb replies simply. He has a thick German accent, his disheveled, red hair half tied back off his tanned face, a faint smattering of freckles across his nose. He holds his hands out expectantly and Caduceus passes Frumpkin to him. He mutters something to the cat in German, tone stern, but Frumpkin simply meows and rubs his face into his hand.

“Thank you,” Caleb says, turning to Caduceus again. “I have a cat flap to my balcony so he can have some fresh air while I am out but I will close it from now. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

“Oh, it’s no inconvenience. And I don’t think that’s necessary,” Caduceus says, “I don’t want to take away his fresh air privileges.”

“Well what do you suggest?” Caleb says. He sounds harried, tired, and Caduceus notices for the first time the dark bags under his eyes. He looks almost underfed and Caduceus feels an automatic rush of sympathy and concern for him. “I cannot have him climbing down two stories to get to your balcony. What exactly has he been doing down here?”

“I grow some vegetables and things out there,” Caduceus says, gesturing back across the kitchen to where his balcony is visible, orange in the glow of the sunset. He chuckles. “I think he got a taste for some of my herbs.”

“There was nothing poisonous he ate, was there?” Caleb asks nervously, looking down at Frumpkin like he’s afraid he might suddenly keel over.

“No, no, I mean anything he ate was okay for him, he didn’t eat much,” Caduceus assures him. “My poor mint suffered for awhile before I figured out what was going on.”

“Right,” Caleb mumbles, still looking wary and petting one hand over Frumpkin’s back in what looks like an automatic gesture. “Regardless, he cannot keep doing this.”

“What I was thinking we could do,” Caduceus begins, “is get you a few cat-friendly plants of your own. That way you don’t have to worry about him being in danger and I don’t have to worry about my plants being in danger. I actually got some catnip for him, we could start you with that, if you’d like?”

Caleb’s face scrunches up in a grimace. “I do not have a green thumb,” he says doubtfully.

“No worries, I can help,” Caduceus says with a shrug. “I’ve gotten pretty fond of this guy, I’d feel bad cutting him off from his time outside.”

Caleb seems to waver indecisively for a moment before sighing in resignation.

“Alright,” he says with a faintly defeated air. “But if he starts doing it again, I am going to have to keep him inside.”

“Completely understandable,” Caduceus says, smiling. “Stay right here, yeah?” He heads out onto the balcony to get the small clay pot containing the catnip, balancing it in the crook of Caleb’s elbow, his arms still full of the happily purring Frumpkin.

“Sure you don’t need help?” he says as Caleb hefts Frumpkin higher up his chest to get a better hold on both him and the pot.

“No, thank you,” Caleb says curtly. He clears his throat and Caduceus watches a faint, embarrassed flush darken his cheeks. “And thank you… for taking care of him.”

“It’s really no problem,” Caduceus insists. He reaches out to give Frumpkin a final pat on the head, pausing when Caleb flinches back defensively. He relaxes when he realizes what Caduceus is doing, allowing him to scratch Frumpkin briefly behind the ear.

“It was nice to meet you, Caleb,” he says, smiling. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around. Let me know if you need any help picking out some plants.”

Caleb nods brusquely, not quite meeting his eye. He looks skittish, jittery in a way that makes that worried feeling deepen further.

“If there’s anything else you need,” Caduceus says, keeping his tone light, “I’m happy to help.”

Caleb gives him a confused, suspicious look, but nods again regardless.

“I will keep that in mind,” he mutters. He clears his throat quietly. “Goodbye.”

Caduceus smiles and raises his hand in a wave as Caleb turns to leave, bowing his head and slouching off towards the stairs at the end of the hall. He watches him, frowning, before heading back inside and sinking back onto the couch to return to his catalog, though he’s only half paying attention, mind wandering to Caleb.

He wonders if he would reject Caduceus bringing him a casserole, maybe play it off as making too much for an excuse to make sure the other man has a decent meal. It looked like it had been awhile since he’d eaten one. He’s still mulling over the idea when his phone dings where it’s laying beside him on the couch and he picks it up curiously.

 **_Caleb Widogast (5E):_ ** _he likes it_

There’s a picture alongside the message of Frumpkin lounging contentedly on Caleb’s balcony beside the little pot of catnip.

Caduceus smiles, something fond and protective blossoming in his chest at the sight. He responds with a smiley face before tucking his phone away again and returning to absently flipping through the catalog, not really reading as he begins going through recipes in his head. He wonders vaguely if Caleb likes mushrooms.


End file.
